Accidentally in Love
by Aielli
Summary: The knights weren't the only ones disappointed by the news of their final quest. LancelotOC


A/N: Okay, so I went to see King Arthur the other day and I absolutely loved it! So many little plot bunnies jumped into my head while I was watching it, what with all those handsome knights :-D. Anyway, this story came into my head while I was listening to that new song by the Counting Crows. It's not entirely all that well planned out, but meh, I've gotten it out of my system now so it's all good. Hope you like it! Yay for Lancelot nookie! Oh, and by the way, I didn't have a beta reader so just ignore any mistakes. Bye for now!

* * *

It had been many months since she had seen him last. Arthur and his knights had been called away on yet another quest in the name of Rome and she had had to watch him ride away again, not knowing if it would be the last time she ever laid eyes upon him. Her last glimpse of him had been from atop the fortified wall which surrounded the Roman outpost. It had been an excruciatingly cold day, but she didn't mind. She had shivered as her hair blew madly in the wind and he had turned slightly atop his horse and had given a small wave and the slightest smile, being ever mindful of Tristan's eyes upon him. His dark eyes had been unreadable and she couldn't help but feel an almost total feeling of loss as he slowly rode away.   
  
She was certain it was the most difficult burden she would ever have to bear. Watching her only living relative, her brother Tristan, and her surrogate family, Arthur and his knights, ride away to almost certain death was almost unbearable. Each time they were called away, she would beg them not to leave. Plead with them and reason that it was unfair and it wasn't their duty and that they should chose to live, instead of relent to die. It was no help at all that they weren't even fighting for a cause in which they believed They had been born into a life of servitude to the Roman Empire in which they were forced to risk their lives for the glory of Rome, and which offered nothing to them except death and misery.   
  
Each time they were called away, even though there were many other people living at the outpost, she felt utterly and horribly alone. Everything she cared for and everything that mattered to her in her life could be found in these men that were forced to serve Rome. Having never known her father, and only having very few memories of her mother, she and Tristan had come to rely on each other for everything. He would protect her with his life and she would do the same for him. When the Roman soldiers had come to their village in Samartia to take Tristan away, she had refused to leave his side, and he had refused to leave without her. The Roman soldiers had of course refused at first. Tristan was fifteen and quite capable of taking care of himself, however Lavinia had only been a mere four years old and obviously posed quite a burden if she were to accompany them. The soldiers had, however, finally relented and allowed her to come along after Tristan had pleaded with them, telling them she had absolutely no one to care for her but him. When they arrived at the outpost in Briton, they had met the other knights and an immediate attachment was formed. They were all strangers in a strange land, fighting for their own survival, and it was the natural order of things that they would come to rely upon each other.   
  
Each time they left her, a horrible, sinking depression would set in. She would lose interest in everything. The days seemed too long and the nights too cold. All the colour she saw seemed somehow duller and the food blander. There was no joy in life, only a stinging anxiety, which mounted ever higher with each day that passed in which her brother and the other knights did not return. Sometimes she would cry, other times she would sit by herself for hours, idly wondering what they were doing, and if, by some chance, they were all unscathed by dangers of war.  
  
Of course there was much joy whenever the knights would return from a long journey. However, this joy was of course mixed with fear. The fear that one or more the knights would not return. It had happened several times, the total number of knights always dwindling, and it was never easier to bear. In fact, each time it became more and more difficult, if that were possible, because as their numbers lessened, each knight became more and more dear to her.   
  
Each time they would return, she would anxiously watch them enter the outpost through the thick stones walls, her heart leaping each time she saw that one of her beloved knights had returned to her unscathed. Of course, none mattered more than Tristan. Her brother was everything to her. Without him, she felt like a lost, lonely little girl with no one to care for her, no one to love her, no one to protect her. There was a deep bond which existed between them, that nothing, save maybe death, could break. None mattered more to her than Tristan, except maybe him. _Him_.   
  
Ever since she and her brother had first arrived at their Roman home for the next fifteen years, Lancelot and she had shared a very unique relationship. Tristan of course was an incredibly protective older brother, especially when it came to matters of men in his sister's life, and Lancelot was very much her senior when it came to age, but still their existed an unspoken attraction between. It was never acted upon and, as Lavinia hoped, never suspected by anyone. But still, it existed, often being the cause of many awkward silences, covert glances, and idle flirtation on the part of Lancelot.   
  
There was just something about Lancelot that intrigued Lavinia inexplicably. He was well known for his handsome looks, and many maidens had fallen victim to his charms, she was sure. Perhaps it was the combination of worldliness and familiarity that attracted her. The fact that here was a brave, handsome knight who traveled all across the island of Briton, a brave and feared knight who faithfully served Arthur held an almost magnetic appeal. Both men and women told tales of Lancelot, albeit vastly different tales, yet this man was very well known to her. She had known him for the majority of her life and he had originated in the same country as she. They were both strangers together in this new land, and she could not help but be drawn to him.   
  
When these feelings for Lancelot first arose in her, she tried everything to ignore them and make them disappear, but she could not deny them. She knew it was foolish to fall for him. If not for the simple reason that her brother would never allow it, or the fact that Lancelot almost definitely had far fairer prospects than she, it was the undeniable reality that his life was not even certain. Not even now, when their term of fifteen years of servitude was so close to a conclusion.  
  
She would sometimes catch herself daydreaming about him, when the knights were away on a quest, and quickly scold herself for such foolishness. Surely, Lancelot felt the attraction between them, but logically never saw her as anything more than a sister. She lived with a constant contradiction pulsing inside her. Her undefined desires for Lancelot and her mind's cold logic that many of the things one may wish for simply aren't meant to be.   
  
It was a bright, but cold day, when the small company of knights finally returned. She had been pacing idly along the top of the fortified wall, which she often did, hoping against hope that this would be the day that they would return. She had been somewhat occupied with the antics of a group of children playing in the court yard below. They seemed to be enacting a great battle, in which three of the children played valiant knights surrounded by a group of hostile enemies. The jumped and twirled a flitted all around, one great ball of energy and excitement. She couldn't remember a day when she had been so carefree as they. She had a experienced pain and joy in the past, but for as long as she could remember, everything she felt was always mingled with fear and anxiety.   
  
She had been brought out of her daze by Vanora, the mother of Bors' children, who was shook her roughly. She had spotted the company on the horizon and was pointing at them vigorously.  
  
"They've returned!" She exclaimed, her eyes flooding with tears. "They've come home!"  
  
Lavinia gave no verbal response, only smiled. She could not truly be happy until she saw who exactly it was that was returning. Of course, she cared deeply and profoundly for the safety of all of the knights, but she knew she would never experience happiness again if either Tristan or Lancelot did not return.  
  
The company of knights drew ever closer and closer as Lavinia and Vanora hurriedly made their way down to the gates of the outpost. Lavinia squinted against the sun, trying to decipher who was there in the distance. Arthur rode in front and was the easiest to see. His armour gleamed in the sun and he looked as proud and noble as ever. She inexplicably felt proud at that moment, despite the fact that Arthur was a Roman. Next she could make out Bors, whose stout frame and nearly bald head she would recognize anywhere. Vanora must have seen him at the same moment she did, because she let out a quivering sigh of relief which Lavinia understood all too well. Her children would still have a father and she would still have a lover.   
  
As the company drew closer, she saw Gawain and Galahad, riding side by side. Gawain seemed to be talking about something that wasn't all that entirely intriguing, as even he didn't look interested in what he was saying, and Galahad was staring off into space, as he would sometimes do from time to time.   
  
Next she saw her brother , riding somewhat apart from the others, accompanied by his hawk. Her heart leapt for joy at the sight of him. He seemed well and now he was returning from his last quest in the name of Rome. He had beaten the odds and survived the ordeal alive and now he would be a free man. Riding close to him was Dagonet. Tristan by nature was not a friendly person and did not openly display his emotions to others. It was a trait that both he and his sister shared, most likely originating from their parentless childhood. However, of all the soldiers, he was closest to Dagonet. They shared a very traditional respect for military honour and Lavinia knew Tristan respected Dagonet deeply for his valor when it came to matters of war.   
  
The company of knights were rounding a small hill and suddenly panic gripped her. That was all.   
  
"Lancelot." She rasped involuntarily. She could feel Vanora's eyes on her. Neither spoke. Many times knights had not returned from the battlefield, and many times Vanora and Lavinia were left to comfort each other. It was always the same. The explosive rage she felt deep within her that a man had to die in the servitude of an Empire to which he did not belong. Now, her heart sinking, she feared this was Lancelot's fate.   
  
Just then, the gallant knight who plagued her dreams and unknowingly ruled her heart, appeared from behind the hill. She let out a breath that she hadn't realized she had been holding in and nearly collapsed to the ground. She wrapped her arms around Vanora and the two shared a hearty, relieved laugh.  
  
"They've all come back!" Lavinia exclaimed, nearly ecstatic.  
  
Vanora smiled, and her eyes wandered from Lavinia to Lancelot.   
  
"Be careful with that one." She said without needing to explain herself. "He'll break your heart, one way or another."   
  
Lavinia was speechless for a moment, but found no need to reply, as the knights had now drawn close to the encampment and Vanora had run out to meet them. She followed quickly behind, delight abound in each step.   
  
Tristan and the others had now dismounted and Lavinia ran full-fledged toward her brother, more colliding with him than hugging him. She could tell he was happy to see her, although of course would not show it. It was evident though by the tight grip she felt around her and the sudden softness that came into his eyes.   
  
"Oh Tristan!" She said, her mouth muffled by his shoulder. She was surprised to find that she was nearly in tears. She hugged him tight and a sudden joy rushed through her. Her brother was free now. They could leave this place, maybe even return to Samartia.   
  
"You can't keep her all to yourself Tristan!" It was Gawain. She turned, laughing, and jumped into his arms and gave him a fervent hug.   
  
"Welcome home." She smiled up at him. Over his shoulder she could see Tristan watching him carefully. She adored and loved her brother to no end, and valued his protection over her. However, sometimes she couldn't help feeling slightly stifled by it. She was nearing the age where it was expected that she marry, and she knew that Tristan's blatant over-protectiveness was going to make that a very difficult task indeed.  
  
"It is good to be home." Gawain said as he released her and truly sounded like he meant it. On the outside, he looked the same, but quivering underneath she thought he looked and sounded much too old and much too tired.   
  
"What a sight for sore eyes!" She heard Galahad call and he grabbed her from behind and twirled her around. She laughed and begged him to stop. He did after a time, and she spun around to face him.  
  
"So how does it feel to finally be free?" She excitedly asked. In a way, she was also gaining her freedom on this day. She was no longer bound to a life of anxiety and fear, and she could now freely leave this place without worry.  
  
"I feel as though I don't have a care in the world." He sounded so happy when he said this that it almost made Lavinia want to cry. He was still young, like her, and he still had a very full life to live.   
  
By now they had made their way back to the outpost. She quickly gave Dagonet a hug and welcomed him home. Though her brother was fairly close with Dagonet, she was not. She found it very hard to relate to him, as she would have with Tristan had they not been related, and she felt that he was just not the type to really get close to anyone. She didn't really bother trying to talk with Bors, as he was quite occupied with Vanora and his children.   
  
Next she spoke with Arthur.  
  
"Welcome home Arthur." She softly, with much respect in her voice. She did not try to make any physical contact with Arthur. Being the captain of the knights, there was a distance between Arthur and his men and the same distance existed between them. She both feared and respected Arthur, loved and regarded him.  
  
"It is good to be home." He said, a small smile gracing his face.   
  
"Thank you for bringing my brother safely back to me." She said in a low voice, for fear that Tristan might over hear.  
  
"It was no doing of mine Lady. Tristan is incredibly capable of taking care of himself and indeed needed no assistance in the task."  
  
Lavinia laughed and smiled at this, and in spite of herself, moved forward and wrapped her arms around Arthur in a tight hug. He seemed surprised at first and did not react. After a moment, he returned the gesture and Lavinia felt both ecstatic and shy at the same time. Arthur pulled away from her and gave her a small nod of his head as he walked further into the court yard.   
  
Suddenly they were face to face. Lancelot stood by his horse, his face smudged with dirt, his dark curls tousled by the wind. He was watching her. She couldn't read his eyes and she could see no emotion in his face. She blushed under his gaze and averted her eyes. She heard him come near her, his armoured boots scrapping at the dirt.   
  
He now stood next to her. His broad frame looking as intimidating as ever as he was still wearing his armour. She felt him slip one of his arms around her waist and draw her close. She made no move to respond. Her mind was moving a mile a minute. All of her idle daydreams and musings concerning this particular knight were suddenly rushing back to her mind and she blushed at their closeness. She knew Tristan would be watching and wanted to save herself a reprimand later.   
  
She felt him place a soft kiss on her cheek and wished, almost painfully, that her brother was not present at that moment.   
  
"We must speak later." He said softly in her ear. His warm breath tickled her ear and the scruffy beginnings of a beard brushed against her cheek, sending a shiver through her and an upset, nervous sensation through her stomach.   
  
A moment later he was suddenly gone. She felt cold and the blush drained from her cheeks. She saw Tristan's eyes on her and walked over to him. She could not tell what he was thinking, although she rarely could.   
  
She smiled and neither said anything. She took his hand in hers, which was calloused and dirty, and lead him into the court yard. A great feeling of relief permeated through the atmosphere. The knights had returned from their last quest and they were now free to live their lives as they pleased.   
  
After briefly speaking with the Bishop, celebrations of the knights' return began almost immediately. A carefree, relaxed atmosphere circulated and no one seemed to care what tomorrow brought. These men were now free to go where they pleased. No more fighting and no more risking their lives. They had been lucky and had escaped the fate of many of their fallen comrades. There was music and wine and much revelry. All the anxiety and fear vanished to be replaced by a lighthearted enjoyment of life. The knights all seemed to relax like they had never done before and it was clear they all felt the great weight which had been lifted from their shoulders.   
  
They all laughed and joked about darker times and a great joyful energy abounded throughout the fortress. Everyone was gathered in the court yard, the wine flowing freely and music playing. Amidst all the spirit of the scene, Lavinia found it difficult to concentrate on celebrating. She could feel that she was being watched. Lancelot sat at one of the long wooden tables, drinking and laughing with his fellow knights, while she stood a ways off, watching over a few of Vanora's children as their mother was somewhat occupied with their father. It was not an uncomfortable feeling, only strange to her. She felt nervous and excited at the same time. She wanted to intrigue him, but not let him know that she did. She wanted to laugh and smile, but at the same time, did not want to lose any allure she might have.  
  
Tristan of course was present there, and she was ever mindful of her actions when she knew he was looking. She dared not look in Lancelot's direction for too long, for fear of detection. She idly thought about just drawing away from the scene and forsaking this game of cat and mouse, but knew she could not bring herself to do so. Occasionally their eyes would meet and she would be drawn to him like a moth to a flame. She could not break eye contact, and only dumbly looked back at him as he skillfully played with her. He would flippantly look away, only to flirtatiously return his eyes a few moments later. She couldn't help but wonder if maybe toying with her affections was just a form of amusement to him.   
  
The light from the lanterns flickered across his handsome face and she was quite mesmerized. She was jealous of the other knights who knew him so well. Jealous of all the over maidens who had known him and shared his bed. Jealous of Vanora even, a women who was obviously spoken for, yet whom Lancelot still found it appropriate to flirt with. Presently, he was attentively listening to something Galahad was saying. His eyes flickered to her and then back to Galahad, small smile gracing his face.  
  
She walked idly for a few steps, coming close to where her brother sat. Even though she had hoped she had been inconspicious, she knew at once by the look on his face that she had not been successful. He gave a look that almost seemed as though it were a warning, although he said nothing. She smiled sweetly back at him, refusing to acknowledge his supposed warning. He gave an exasperated sigh, and turned his attention else where. She gave a slight shrug of her shoulders and continue aimlessly walk away. There was a prickling at the back of her neck and she looked up. His eyes were on her again, intense and dark. As she looked back, she wished she could climb inside his head and know what he was thinking. He was such a mystery to her, the cause of endless questions.   
  
"Why do you stare at him so?" It was one of Bors' daughters, number four, she believed.  
  
"I do not know of what you speak." Lavinia replied, blushing in spite of herself, feeling silly that she should have to justify herself to a mere child.   
  
"You were looking at Lancelot. He is very handsome." The girl said, very matter-of-fact.   
  
She had no response to this, only a ridiculous feeling that she had not been so furtive in her attention to Lancelot as she had hoped.   
  
The girl shrugged . "I think he's very handsome." She stated flatly as she moved away to rejoin the other children.   
  
She suddenly felt as though she were just a little girl, infatuated with an older man. She felt foolish and stared at the ground, blinking tears away from her eyes. She would never be anything more than a sister to him. He was flirtatious by nature and couldn't help from playing with her, obviously never meaning to act upon his flirtation. The back of her throat burned as she fought away tears and it felt as though the bottom had dropped out of her stomach. She suddenly felt dizzy and embarrassed and, keeping her eyes firmly on the ground, left the court yard in a hurry, with the intention of returning to her quarters for the night.   
  
She hurriedly walked down the dimly light corridors, passing very few people, keeping eyes down and her arms wrapped closely around her. She felt so childish at that moment and she didn't know how she would ever face Lancelot again. She suddenly hoped that he would leave now that he had gained his freedom and that she might never she him again.   
  
She desperately wanted to crawl into her bed and shut the world out. She wanted to be left to her own thoughts so that she might reason a solution to her predicament. Perhaps some sort of explanation for her feelings. Anything to dispel the awful feeling in the pit of her stomach.   
  
The moment she laid eyes upon the door of her quarters, she could hear footsteps behind her and she quickened her pace. She did not wish to speak with anyone, not even her brother, who she suspected it was. Just as she was opening her door, she felt a hand on her shoulder, but she did not turn to see who it belonged to.  
  
"Tristan I'm tired and I think I'll go to sleep now. I'll see you in the morning." She said flatly as she began to push her door open.   
  
"Shall I give that message to your brother for you, my lady?" A voice asked, and at once she knew who it was. She would recognize his strong, deep voice anywhere. She could feel her breath quicken as she tried to concoct a reply to Lancelot's query.   
  
She turned slowly to face him. His gaze bore down upon with the force of a million suns and she quickly turned her eyes to the floor.   
  
"No, thank you. I thought you _were_ my brother." She replied softly.  
  
"What a shame that would be." He said earnestly.   
  
In spite of herself, her eyes shot upwards to meet his. His dark eyes reflected the light from the lanterns and she was sure she had never found them more mesmerizing then at that moment.   
  
"I fear I am very tired. I bid you goodnight." She told him quietly after a short pause.   
  
A small smile curved on his lips and she slowly pushed her door open behind her.  
  
"May I come in?" He asked.  
  
She was shocked. The audacity! She may have been infatuated with him, but she was still a respectable woman. The very idea of her allowing a well-known womanizer into her bedroom, late at night, with no chaperone was outright scandalous.   
  
"Of course." She breathed in spite of all her reservations. She silently pushed the door open and he followed her inside, quietly closing the door behind him.   
  
He stood leaning with his back against the door, surprisingly comfortable in these unknown surroundings. He was watching her again, but there was a glint of something new in his eyes. A hunger that had long been there and needed to be satisfied.   
  
She met his eyes for a moment, but then turned them to a small trinket lying on her dresser.   
  
"Why do you look at me so?" She asked, her voice quavering. She had never been so nervous. Besides the fact that if this situation were discovered her reputation would be destroyed, she feared she would say something foolish to embarrass herself. She had never been completely alone with a man she found so attractive and she was not sure how she should proceed.   
  
"Because you are so beautiful." He replied, very honestly, without missing a beat.   
  
She dared not look at him, for fear that he was merely joking. She could feel her cheeks burning and wished that she were more experienced in matters of men.   
  
"So," He began conversationally. "Are you married yet?"  
  
She looked up in surprise.   
  
"I just assumed that a girl as beautiful as yourself would not go unwed much longer." He stated, giving her a charming smile.   
  
"No. No, I am not. I could not have married without my brother's approval." She paused for a moment. "And besides, I would not have allowed you to come here if I were."   
  
He quirked an eyebrow and flashed a smile which seemed to say 'that's just your opinion'.   
  
Her mind raced frantically, searching for something to say.   
  
"What was it you wished to speak with me about?" She asked him, attempting to swallow her nervousness.   
  
"Just that. To see if you were married yet." At this, he made his way over to her bed and unabashedly sat down. The sight of this man, whom she desired so much, sitting on her bed was almost too much to bear. She pleaded with her mind not to consider all the possibilities and instead tried to think of what her brother would say to all this.   
  
"I would have asked your brother myself, but I fear he would have castrated me himself for even thinking about such a thing." He said with a laugh. Tristan had made it very clear to all the knights long ago that his sister was not for any of them. He did not want his sister to be a widow so early in life.  
  
To this she did not know quite how to respond. She was most definitely very flattered by his interest in her, and yet found it hard to let go of her cynicism. This was, after all, Sir Lancelot, a very well known womanizer. His intentions seemed innocent enough on the surface, but she could not help but feel that there must be a lack of sincerity and hidden agenda drifting below.   
  
"Why do you concern yourself with such a matter?" She asked him, her throat feeling tight, her mouth dry. Her nervousness had not dispelled and if anything, had increased.   
  
"I have my reasons." Was his quietly intriguing response. He said nothing more, only sat on her bed, regarding her silently. His face was again unreadable.   
  
Lancelot was a connoisseur of women, if there was such thing, and with this reputation came an inherent distrust from the fairer sex. As Lancelot sat there a sort of aura seemed to radiate from him, one of sexual prowess and skill. He was an undeniable bastion of sexual knowledge and experience and this both enticed and intimidated Lavinia. The tension within the room was unmistakable as their eyes met and each regarded the other. Vanora's words of early rang through her mind, and it was only then that she realized the heartbreak she spoke of was not merely out of speculation, it was gleaned from experience. Lavinia knew it was Lancelot, not Bors, who was Gilly's father. Everyone seemed to speculate upon this issue, given Lancelot's reputation, but very few, not even Bors himself, knew for sure. Vanora had confided in Lavinia long ago, but Lavinia had been so young at the time she had not been much help.   
  
Just as the pregnant pause was turning into an awkward pause, Lancelot rose from the bed and slowly walked toward her, his eyes never leaving hers. Suddenly, she found that his strong arms were encircling her waist, pulling her slightly toward him. She didn't know how to react and so just stood there, feeling foolish.  
  
She gazed upon his face. It was indeed just as handsome up close. He had strong, charismatic eyebrows, he had a powerful jaw line and well defined cheek bones, all of which were complimented by his thick, dark hair. But now that she could see him up close, Lavinia was sure that his lips were by far his most enticing feature. They were full and lightly coloured and looked very soft. She soon discovered just how soft they were as Lancelot placed a gentle kiss on her lips.   
  
She naturally closed her eyes. He pressed his lips against hers and drew his arms tighter about her waist. He gently sucked on her lower lip for a moment before coaxing her mouth open with his tongue. He brought one hand to the back of her neck, pressing her ever closer to him. As his tongue ran slowly against hers, she was free of all inhibitions for the moment. Something instinctual stirred within her and she found that it wasn't at all an unpleasant sensation.   
  
She was brought back to reality very quickly though, as she suddenly saw the face of her brother in her mind. He looked both stern and disappointed. She felt suddenly guilty. She had forsaken her brother's lifetime of care and protection for one moment of passion. She abruptly pulled away from Lancelot.   
  
"What's the matter?" He asked, looking truly perplexed. The playfulness had gone from his features, and he looked genuinely concerned.   
  
"I cannot do this. This was not meant to be." She said breathlessly.   
  
"I see." He replied flatly, his eyes falling to the ground. He now no longer looked like a proud soldier, only a broken, defeated man. His shoulders slumped and his chest caved. He returned his eyes to hers and she was surprised to see that they were red and brimmed with tears  
  
.  
  
"You reject me." He rasped. She had never seen him act in such a manner and it made her incredibly uncomfortable to know that she was the cause of such actions.   
  
"I must go." He said hurriedly, seemingly almost on the brink of losing his composure.   
  
Lavinia's mind raced for a valid explanation. She was confused and could not for the life of her understand why he acted in such a way.   
  
Just as he was opening the door to leave, she ran after him.  
  
"No!" She called out to him. He stopped in his tracks, but did not turn to face her. "Wait." She said, coming up behind him.   
  
"Don't leave. Please, stay with me." She pleaded with him. His shoulders shook and he stood with his hands clenched in fists at his sides and she wondered what emotions it was that now presently stirred within him. "Please, tell what it is that bothers you."  
  
He did not say anything for a moment and did not move. Then, he turned to face her, his face a mask of sadness and pain.  
  
"I love you." He said simply.   
  
She was utterly and completely speechless. Her mind froze and she was sure her ears had not heard correctly.   
  
"But–I–you–I'm sorry?" She spluttered, her mouth hanging slightly ajar.   
  
"I love you." He repeated with a small laugh.   
  
"I don't understand." She said, dumbfounded. How could what Lancelot was saying possibly be true? Was this man even capable of love? And why her, of all people?   
  
"It's simple. I love you." He stated again. When she did not respond he proceeded to explain himself.   
  
"All things considered, I do believe I fell in love with you the moment I first laid eyes on you. You are everything to me, and always have been. It was you I thought of when I was far from this place, miserable and cold. Thinking of you made me feel that I might be happy again one day. You were the light in my life that kept me warm. It was you I thought of whenever I made love to a woman. Being with you just feels so right, so perfect. Being with you just feels like home." He told her. He did not seem embarrassed at all with what he said, and in his eyes, she could see the deepest sincerity she had ever known. In a moment, all her doubts and skepticism vanished. Lancelot was not lying, of that she was sure. He did truly love her.   
  
"I–I never knew." She replied, feeling altogether overwhelmed. "But, why me?" She asked. By this time Lancelot had crossed the room and again was holding her in his arms.   
  
"You are so pure and so good. You are so far removed from the life I've known. You know nothing of the miseries of war, know not what it's like to watch your friends die for a cause that is not their own. You are still young and innocent, unaffected by the evils of the world. You are the one that I love and the one that I need." He whispered, his beautiful dark eyes locked with hers.   
  
"Oh Lancelot!" She exclaimed as she tightly hugged him. For the first time in many years happiness was all she knew. She had no more worries, and she hugged him tightly like she never wanted to let go. Tears of joy stung at her eyes and she felt utterly content with her life and her future. Nothing could go wrong now, she would never be unhappy again. She had the love of this man and that was all that mattered.   
  
"I am truly happy now." She told him, and kissed him impulsively, which was a rather bold move which surprised even her. Lancelot did not pull away however and only deepened the kiss, holding her as if she were the most desirable woman in the world. His lips moved to her jaw line and then her neck, softly kissing and sucking at the skin there, his scruffy beard tickling her neck. He nuzzled his nose with her ear and gently sucked at her ear lobe, and not for the last time that evening, Lavinia cursed her inexperience.   
  
He pulled away from her, a charming little smile curving on his lips. She gave a sheepish little grin in response.  
  
"I apologize for my inexperience." She said shyly. To this he gave a hearty laugh and a wide grin.  
  
"It is nothing to apologize for. I cherish your virginity and the fact that I will be the first man you are known to."  
  
"What do you mean, first? You'll be the only one!" She scolded him and he laughed. "And how do you know I'm a virgin?" She asked, wondering if it were really that obvious.  
  
He quirked an eyebrow and gave a knowing smile, as if to say he knew matters like these all to well.   
  
"You're an obedient, respectable girl with an incredibly skilled soldier for an overprotective, older brother. It would be nearly impossible for you to be otherwise." He replied, perfectly confident.   
  
She smiled up at him and said nothing, relieved that the issue had risen and had now passed. He gazed back at her, but all the laughter had drained from his eyes. There was only desire now. She had never in her life been looked at like that before and again, that instinctual feeling had stirred in her again. He looked like a man who had hungered for years, but she knew that it was not food he hungered for. He slowly moved his eyes over her, regarding each part of her form with keen interest.   
  
She squirmed under his gaze and felt her cheeks blush. He did not even seem to notice. He only returned his eyes to her face as he moved his hands to the back of her dress, and deftly began to undo her bodice. He was going to claim her as his and she felt utterly powerless, anticipation coursing through her. As she felt her bodice loosen about her, she suddenly lost all confidence she had and pulled away from him. He did not say anything, but the question was evident in his eyes.   
  
"You first." She said with a small smile.   
  
He returned her smile and opened his arms.  
  
"Be my guest." He said with a grin.   
  
She timidly moved toward him, and with only a moment of hesitation, she began to unfasten his clothes. After this, there was no going back. Before tonight, she could have walked away, left Lancelot out of her life. But after tonight, they would be forever inextricably bound to one another.   
  
Disrobing a man was actually much easier then she expected and in no time at all, his upper half was entirely exposed.   
  
Lancelot must have noticed her apparent skill in these actions and questioned "Are you sure you've never done this before?" He was only joking, she knew, but she still slapped his arm in reprimand.   
  
She was quite mesmerized by the sight of his half naked body. She couldn't help but stare, slowly moving her eyes over him. Every muscle in his body seemed to be perfectly defined, and she felt that she must touch him, caress his skin, to see if it were as soft as it looked. She placed a hand on his abdomen and the muscles rippled beneath her touch. She slowly trailed her fingers upward, across his chest, her fingers adeptly aware of every dip and curve. She had seen the male frame before, but never like this. She had never felt so aroused or intrigued by it before.   
  
She looked up at him and it was obvious that he derived great enjoyment from her curiosity. He flashed her that flirtatious smile of his and she could only smile back. She ran her fingers slowly down one of his arms, coming to a stop at a scar cutting across it.   
  
"How did this happen?" She asked, her voice quiet. This was probably not the best time to remind him of the rigors of battle but she couldn't help but ask.  
  
"Can't remember. I have so many." His voice was strained and he shivered under her touch.   
  
She felt so very sorry for the man that stood in front of her. He had been hurt, nearly killed, a hundred times over, and for what? Now that he had gained his freedom he had nothing to show for his pain and suffering. At that moment, she wanted to please him badly. Wanted to help him forget all the past horrors of his life and move on.   
  
He gently lifted her hand and placed it back on his chest. She could feel his heart beating. He watched her face as he very gently guided her hand downward. After a moment, she got the hint and moved her hand on her own. Presently, she found her hands at the waist of his leggings and she hesitated. He waited patiently, not rushing her, waiting for her decide on her own.   
  
She let out a shaky breath and then took the plunge. She undid the draw strings and pushed gently downward and lis leggings fell to the ground with a soft _plop_.   
  
Well, she had certainly never seen _that_ before.   
  
"So that's what it looks like." She said simply after of moment of staring. She felt she needed to say something for fear of being considered rude.   
  
"I see you've often thought about this." Lancelot said with a chuckle.   
  
She shot him a look and he only laughed more. The hunger returned to his half-lidded eyes and he moved closer to her.   
  
"Your turn." He said lowly, his voice laden with desire.  
  
She did not resist, only closed her eyes as he kissed her neck and loosened her dress. She could tell that he had done this many times before because he experienced no difficulty at all and in no time, she found that she was completely naked.   
  
She felt cold and uncomfortable as no man had ever seen her in this way. She looked up at him, self conscious. What if she was not what he expected? What if she was a disappointment? What if–?   
  
"You are beautiful." He told her, seeming to read her mind.  
  
"Thank you." She replied quietly.  
  
He was looking her up and down again, eyeing her hungrily. He bit at his lower lip and – _oh dear_! She happened to glance below his waist and it was, well, growing. She hoped that was a good thing.   
  
He abruptly pulled her to him in a passionate kiss. He pushed into her and she found that he had become very hard down _there_. The sensation of skin against skin was almost maddening. He ran his fingers through her hair and she found she was breathing hard. There was something that she wanted, that she _needed_, but she did not know what it was. She had only ever heard other women speak of the act of lovemaking and she now felt she slightly understood what it was they all whispered about.  
  
"Lancelot." She breathed as she pulled away from him. "Make love to me."  
  
"Yes."He said. "I believe I will."  
  
After it was done, they lay entwined with each other, Lancelot's head pillowed on Lavinia's chest. She felt warm and safe and utterly content. She could not stop another smile from gracing her face. She ran her fingers through his soft hair. She never wanted to move. They could've been lying there for hours or only a few minutes, she could not tell. Time seemed to stand still.  
  
Neither spoke. Neither had to. They were both satisfied to just lay in each other's arms. Her breathing was deep and slow she feared she might fall asleep.   
  
She suddenly felt Lancelot's body jerk and she looked down in worry. He turned his face upward toward her and she saw tears in his eyes.   
  
"What is the matter?" She breathed, truly perplexed.   
  
He gave the best smile he could muster and a small laugh.  
  
"Absolutely nothing."  
  
She wrapped her arms tightly about him and held him without question.   
  
"I never thought I would be this happy again. I have finally found peace. I have survived and I am so thankful." He spoke with all the pain of his past. The enormity of his chances of survival were now only realized.  
  
"I feel guilty. Why should I have survived while all the others did not?" He asked her. He seemed to beg for her to give him a reason that would calm him. A reason that would justify his life and all his actions. He clung to her tightly and she was sure this was the weakest moment of his life.   
  
"Lancelot, you were meant to survive. You were meant to return to me. You were meant to love me." She told him as she soothingly stroked his back and held him close.   
  
He looked up at her and regarded her with a smile.  
  
"Marry me." It was a question and it wasn't a command. It was a simple statement of what was meant to take place.   
  
"Of course." She responded, limitless joy coursing through her veins.   
  
Lancelot smiled broadly and hugged her tightly. He looked as happy as a child.   
  
"I will tell your brother this very night!" He exclaimed as he leapt from the bed. She laughed as he hurriedly redressed himself, his clothes disheveled and his hair a mess.   
  
She told him to go on ahead without her and she would join him soon. Lancelot might find it acceptable to appear in public looking a mess, but she did not. Even though what she had just experienced had been the most pleasurable thing in her life, she did not want everyone to know.   
  
She took her time getting dressed, stopping to bathe herself and fix her hair. She eventually made her way to the court yard at the center of the fortress.  
  
The moment she arrived, she knew something was wrong. Something who dreadfully wrong. The mood was unmistakably sour. The fires had died and menacing shadows filled the court yard. The music no longer played and the knights no longer laughed and joked together. The ones that were present there, her brother, Dagonet and Bors, all sat by themselves, dejected.  
  
She hurried over to her brother, her heart pounding in her chest. Shouldn't they be celebrating? They were now free men. What could possibly cause this?  
  
"Brother!" She called to Tristan. "What is wrong?"   
  
"The bishop has ordered that we complete one last quest before we can gain our freedom. We leave at first light tomorrow." He told her. He did not seem at all perplexed by this. Tristan rather enjoyed the life of a soldier and had said many times before that he knew he would die on the fields of battle.   
  
Lavinia wanted to scream and cry and felt a sudden rage. This could not be! It simply could not! The injustice was too great to bare.   
  
She collapsed to the ground, a heap of incoherent sobs, tears streaming from her eyes. Tristan came to her side to comfort his sister.   
  
"It will be alright." He assured her. "I will be alright. You do not need to worry."  
  
But he didn't understand. How could he? What if Lancelot did not return? What then? She had suffered many losses in her life, but that one would be too great to bare. She looked into her brother's eyes and nearly told of him of what had happened. But, deep down, she knew she couldn't. In order to survive, the knights needed to rely on each other one hundred percent and telling Tristan of what had occurred would shatter his trust in Lancelot, and perhaps all of his comrades in arms. All Lavinia could do was cry and curse the world for being so cruel.   
  
She eventually ended up back in her quarters, although she could not remember walking there. Everything was a blur. She couldn't think straight or hold a coherent thought in her head. She was only filled with a sense of dread. She had come so close, so unbearably close, to attaining happiness, only to have it snatched away from her.   
  
It was many hours into the night when she heard her door slowly creek open. She knew who it was. He entered quietly and came to a stop at the foot of her.  
  
"I'm so sorry." Lancelot's voice sounded hoarse, and she knew that they shared their pain.  
  
"It's not your fault. You couldn't have known." She told him. Of course she wasn't angry with him. He was entirely not at fault. She could only wished that things had worked out differently.   
  
"We leave at first light tomorrow."  
  
"I know." The tears that had dried up prior to his arriving now returned with a vengeance. "Will you return?"She asked, knowing that he could not give her an answer.   
  
"I do not know." He said, and for once, sounded frightened. Perhaps now because he finally had something to lose.  
  
She reached out and held her hand in his. Neither spoke and both were content to enjoy the other's company, knowing that it might be the last time they were ever together.  
  
The sun dawned cold and cruel the next morning, and just as said the night before, the knights left as soon as the sun made it's ghastly appearance.   
  
Lavinia cursed the sun for rising. She cursed the Roman's for being so powerful and ignorant. But most of all, she cursed her awful luck.   
  
There was nothing she could to stop the events unfurling in front of her and so watched numbly as the knights prepared for their journey. They were ready to leave all too soon and she presently found herself in her brother's tight embrace.  
  
"Be a good girl." He told her. "I will see you soon." At this he mounted his horse and slowly began to ride away.   
  
Lancelot was at the back of the pack, his face turned toward her, saying nothing. He only watched her as he slowly rode away. She wanted to yell for him to stop and come back. She wanted to beg him to please stay. But alas, she could not force herself to utter a word. She did not want her brother to leave, and possibly die, with the knowledge that she had forsaken all his advice and protection. And so, soundlessly, she watched everything that mattered to her, painfully leave her life.   
  
As cruel fate would have it, Lancelot and her brother were momentarily returned to her later. They had accomplished their quest and finally received their discharge papers from the Bishop. Dagonet had not survived and his death seemed to indicate a dire future. The Saxons were invading from the north and Arthur had chosen to lead the fight against them. In his hour of need none of his men would desert him, not even Lancelot. It was then that Lavinia realized he did not belong to her, but to the fields of battle. It was like home to him and no amount of coaxing could change that sad reality.   
  
Arthur and his remaining knights rode of to war, and Lavinia knew, even before word reached the Roman fortress, that Lancelot would not return. She somehow just knew. It all just made so much sense. He was a man who was never meant to be free and never meant to be happy. It was a shock however, when she discovered that her brother too had been killed.   
  
Just as Lancelot and her brother never experienced true happiness, neither would she. Their fates were inextricably entwined and nothing would change that. For the rest of her life she was a mere shell of her former self, a ghost of what had been. She lived alone, and would eventually die alone. In her darkest times, she would try and convince herself that her love for Lancelot had been an accident, and that she could control her own fate. But then she would remember his dark, soulful eyes and know in an instant that it was not. The sad fact of the matter was that he had loved her, and she him, and that sometimes, the world is just far too cruel. 


End file.
